


Spider and the Fly

by Redneckexol



Series: Spider and the Fly [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Gang Violence, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 02:45:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15330015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redneckexol/pseuds/Redneckexol
Summary: "Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly,"'Tis the prettiest little parlour that you ever did spy."Kim Jongdae has a lot to prove. He's a reliable person. A loyal worker. Preforms well under pressure. His number one concern is proving that to his boss, his coworkers, and the hot guy next door, because the doubt of other's could be his undoing. After all, the underground life of the premier Korean mafia, EXO is anything but pretty. If Jongdae wants to hold his position in the main group after the man who recruited him via proxy group has gone rouge, he's going to have to be perfect.





	Spider and the Fly

**Author's Note:**

> In which I love Mafia/Gang AUs and EXO and naturally just wanted to smash them together for shits and giggles. First chapter is more of a setup to what will be coming, and chapter two will force me to actually write a plot for once.

It’s the third time this week that Jongdae has stumbled over the carefully covered picnic basket on his doorstep. Squatting to pick it up and straighten the hand towel over it, he takes a long inhale of the peanut butter and chocolate chips, licking his lips before shuffling back into his apartment. He’s already running late, but Baekhyun will forgive him if he brings him a few of his hot neighbors’ white chocolate macadamia nut. With the offering sitting on his kitchen counter, it almost looks as if Jongdae has been visited by a grandmother convention. There are four other baskets with various types of cookies, cakes, and cupcakes scattered around them. Each had been covered with a clean, yellow towel, which were now smeared with chocolate and stale cake crumbs from the Fortnite bingefest Jongdae, Chanyeol, and Baekhyun had a few days ago.  
Scratching the back of his neck, Jongdae lifts a few handfuls of cookies out of the basket and drops them in his lunchbox, shoving a few in his mouth before he walks back out the door. Having cookies delivered by his hot neighbor isn’t necessarily a new phenomenon, but he’s beginning to wonder about the man’s sanity. Who cooks six dozen cookies of various types in one week? Better yet, who finds time to make chocolate and vanilla cakes, and red velvet cupcakes around all that cookie baking? As he locks his door, Jongdae spares a glance to the one next to his. If there is any hint of it being a drug drop off, where heroin addicts find their next hit hidden in the globs of vanilla frosting, he doesn’t see it. Chewing carefully, he walks past the simple, beige door and hopes it isn’t too late to catch the bus to work.

. . .

“Don’t take it personally, Yeolie.” Baekhyun is saying as Jongdae shoulders open the heavy basement door. “You just have a weak right hook. You should really leave the interrogating up to me you know.”  


“You’re a dork with fake glasses. No one takes you seriously.”  


“They take me seriously once they take one of my right hooks to the face.” Baekhyun is wiping off the hand in question, dropping the blood stained wet wipe before smashing his fist into the nose of the man they have chained to the chair bolted into the floor. “Let me take care of this babe, I’ll let you know when I need someone to haul him out of here.”  
Jongdae snorts, dropping his lunchbox on the floor by the door. Chanyeol has his arms crossed over his chest, nose crinkling as he formulates a comeback. Shaking his head, Jongdae steps forward, rolling up the sleeves of his button-up as Baekhyun lands strike after strike against the man’s head.  


“At least leave him conscious Baek. We’ll need to interrogate him sooner or later.”  


“Please, I’m barely getting warmed up.”  


A glance back at Chanyeol shows him rolling his eyes, head lolling back as he shifts from foot to foot. He’s holding Baekhyun’s hoodie between his folded arms and his chest, always the obedient boyfriend.  


“Are you really going to take it from this pipsqueak?” Jongdae jokes, stretching his right arm across his chest before doing the same with his left. He smirks as Chanyeol scowls at him, big shoulders bunching together under his oversized jacket.  


“I’m not taking anything, I’m-“  


“Funny, you sure were taking my dick last night.” Baekhyun steps back from his target, straightening the false frames balancing on his nose. He huffs out a breath before raising an eyebrow at Jongdae. “Are you just going to stand there looking pretty or are you actually going to contribute today?”  


“Baek, I’m wounded.” Jongdae grips his chest, sagging slightly. “And to think I packed extra cookies for you.” It’s a testament to his balance that Jongdae doesn’t fall over when Baekhyun shoulders past him, heading for his lunchbox.  


“Is your neighbor still cranking out snacks? Is he high all the time or just operating some back-door bakery?” He crouches, digging through the bag to snag a handful of snacks. Jongdae turns his attention to the man in front of him, taking in the heavy breathing, the steady drip of blood from his mouth. Placing two fingers under his chin, Jongdae lifts his head slowly, watching as the dark eyes struggle to focus on him. He’s just about to speak when the man spits, blood and saliva spraying across Jongdae’s face and clean shirt.  
Chanyeol howls with laughter, clapping his enormous hands together as he falls to his knees, face screwing up with the effort of it all. Jongdae likes to think he remains composed, lifting one hand to wipe the spray from his eyes and mouth, right before he slams his fist into the guy’s mouth.  


“Where did you even find this kid?” He demands, taking in the closely shaven hair, thick eyebrows, and busted mouth. The man’s eyes are dark and piercing, feeling more like they’re looking through Jongdae than at him.  


“Picked him up in the alley near Choi’s club. He was packing heat and a couple grams, and he has the Superior’s mark. Suho has been so anal about finding any type of info on them that it seemed worthwhile to bring him in. His ranking is lower than whoever Yeolie dragged in last time though.”  


“You mean that Chinese kid?” Jongdae asks, eyes still on the man glowering at him. “Didn’t he bleed out?” The guy strains against the linked chains binding him at the wrists, and his gaze turns molten. Bingo. Baekhyun has his mouth too full with sweets to respond, but Jongdae is already crouching, stare now level with their captive. “You know, the one who’s arms we broke before we interrogated? I think we ended up gutting him didn’t we? But he bled out before you could get to his intestines?” He watches with a smirk as the guy growls, rattling against the chains so hard the whole chair shivers. “Friend of yours?” Jongdae’s smirk widens as he rocks back on his heels, drawing himself up to full height again. “He died honorably if that helps you. Barely uttered anything useful. But we didn’t kill him, in the end. We dropped him off at the emergency entrance of the nearest hospital, and called one of your bosses to come get him.” He wipes one side of his face against the clean sleeves of his shirt, then the other, smearing blood across the white fabric.  


“Choi Siwon shot him in the head. Right in front of a couple of nurses.” Baekhyun adds, contemplating the cookie in his hand. “If it had been the hospital bill, I’m sure he could have billed us for it.”  


“Get caught, get slaught.” The captive spits a glob of blood onto the floor at Jongdae’s feet.  


“Stupid creed.” He responds, shoulders shrugging. “Slaughtering your own brothers just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s animal.” He watches as the Superior grunt raises an eyebrow, eyes sliding to Chanyeol and Baekhyun, who are almost getting physical over the last two chocolate chip cookies.  


“Animals, hu?” His chuckle is soft and dark. “Like you all have any room to point fingers. At least we don’t gut our captives.”  


“No.” Jongdae agrees. “But you have chopped a few of us up and kept the important bits.” The captive’s mouth sets itself into a thin line, his chin lifting defiantly.  


“He deserved it.”  


“I could say the same about your friend. You know Leeteuk had a couple pounds of C4 strapped to him when we found him?” The man’s face remains neutral. “He was meant to be a suicide bomber in one of our clubs. We’re lucky to have someone who’s actually competent in shit like that. But your bosses, they sent that kid to die. When he didn’t they killed him. Do you really think they’re the types you want to be loyal to?”  


The man is silent again, glowering; Baekhyun’s phone chirps in the quiet.  


“Suho wants you upstairs, Chen. Says it’s urgent.”  
Nodding, Jongdae holds the guy’s glare for a few more seconds before turning towards the door. He picks up his ravaged lunchbox and drags the door open, stepping out into the dark hallway.  
. . .  


“There are a few pop-up Superior dens in Incheon appearing on our reports. They’re mostly just pushing weed and some prescription drugs, probably have a connection with local hospitals. Stationed out of residential apartments, all under someone with the surname Park, all paid for in advance, nice places, but just close enough to the edge of the neighborhood that no one wants to call the police.”  


“Do we have any possible clients of theirs’s we could talk to?”  


“We’re working on it.”  


“Work harder.”  


Jongdae steps back from the door to make room for Jongin as he swings it open, handsome face set in a frown. He nods to him as he begins down the hall, laptop clamped under his left arm. There is a full heartbeat before Jongdae hears Suho call out his name, and he steps into the office.  


Suho keeps his headquarters on the sixth floor of a Suwon office complex, renting out the other offices to various connections and family who need a base of operations. A few of the lower levels are rented by ignorant outsiders, a grandmother’s acupuncture shop, a smoothie place, and a personal trainer call floors two and three their home. Suho’s office is walled on two sides by continuous windows, giving enough light that he doesn’t have to bother with the overhead lights. It’s a minimalist setup, with a large wood desk and matching chairs organized around it. The only other pieces of furniture are a small table by the door for outgoing papers, and a large map framed and matted hanging up on the wall to the left of the door. The map tracks each subway, bus, and flight route across the peninsula; crisscrossing red, blue, and green lines across province borders and city markers.  
Jongdae follows a few of the lines that stretch over Suwon and Gyeonggi-do before looking to his leader, hands clasped respectfully in the small of his back. Suho’s eyebrows are furrowed as he reads over the papers in his hand, taking a few moments before he looks up.  


“Has he talked yet?”  


“No. But we might have some leverage. He was close to that Lau kid we ditched at the hospital a few months ago. Maybe we could sway him.”  
Suho nods absently, eyes back on the papers. After a moment he lays them on the desk in front of Jongdae and gestures to it.  


“They call him DO. Which is only slightly a better mob name than Baek and Yeolie. Do Kyungsoo. Superior’s up and coming marksman. He was born in Goyang, no parents, brother is career army. We can track at least seven kills to him.”  


Jongdae moves to stand in front of the desk, looking over the report offered. DO’s glower is recognizable even in the scanned image of his army ID from six years previous, head still shaved, eyebrows slightly less bushy. There’s a scan of his birth certificate, a few doctor’s reports, a high school diploma. There’s nothing too interesting until Jongdae shuffles to the handwritten notes on a distinct piece of hotel stationary. While Suho keeps his operation, EXO, stationed in discreet office complexes, Leeteuk uses his family’s chain of luxury hotels to house Superior’s business. One of the first things Jondgae learned during his initiation was to recognize the seal stamped across the top of the paper.  


He knows this handwriting too, the neat lines of hangul read vertically down the page. Ryewook had taken careful note of DO’s temperament, his focus, and how he only seemed to talk to his superiors and Henry Lau. The entire back of the page analyzed their relationship, revealing just how familiar they were.  


“I thought Lau and Ryewook were exclusive?” Jongdae raises his eyes to meet Suho’s. His leader is leaning back in his chair, frowning and resting his head in his right hand.  


“So did I. But I know that Ryewook didn’t react well to Lau’s execution. I’m assuming DO didn’t either. It’s been a long time since Superior’s took their ‘get caught, get slaught’ code seriously. They sure didn’t when Shindong got taken in by the cops last year.”  


Jongdae remembered watching the news with Chanyeol, waiting for the gunshot to ring out as Shin Donghee walked free on national television. When it didn’t, they’d watched every night after that for two weeks, waiting for his body to surface. For the newscaster to announce he’d been cut open by his own syndicate. Getting caught by any outside organization or law enforcement meant in-house slaughter for Superior’s geondal, and it had been years since a member had been ritually murdered. The talk in other organizations was that Leeteuk had lost his bloodlust, that Superior was no longer practicing their slaughter code, Jongdae had believed it too when he had seen Donghee on the streets outside Choi Siwon’s Gangam club. He had believed it up until he’d seen the owner himself blow Henry Lau’s brains against the curb of a Gangam hospital and leave him there.  


Get caught, get slaught seemed to only apply to some Superiors then.  


“You think he’d defect?”  


“I think he knows they’ll kill him if he leaves here. He’s not one of the Terrible Twelve like Shindong is. He’s not even as high ranking as Lau was. He’s expendable.”  


“So make him an offer he can’t refuse.”  


“Shouldn’t be too hard.” Suho is leaning against the desk with both elbows now, fingers knitted together and supporting his chin. “His other option isn’t appealing.”  


There’s a knock on the door, interrupting their conversation. Suho sighs, reaching for the coffee mug on the far right corner of his desk. Jongdae knows this is his cue to leave. Before he turns to the door, he fishes in the lunchbox slung over his shoulder for a peanut butter cookie, placing it on DO’s report before pushing it back across the polished surface of the desk to his leader. Suho snickers. “Are you sucking his dick to get this many cookies out of him?”  


Jongdae laughs, edges of his mouth curling. “Not yet. But I’m sure I’ll have double the amount once I start.” Turning, he crosses the short distance to the door, opening it to reveal Sehun’s long frame and bored expression. “Speaking of dicks. Looks like you’re about to talk to one, boss.”  


Sehun has the audacity to look offended, rolling his eyes as he shoulders past Jongdae. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his black slacks, posture slack as he rests his weight on one foot. Sehun has the undeniable ability to possess any room he walks into, something Jongdae admires and is envious of, and one of the reasons he knows the grunt has caught Suho’s attention. Blood line succession is fairly hard when you like sticking your dick up other men.  


“Lock the door on your way out, Chen.”  


Jongdae nods in response, turning the lock as he steps into the hallway. He makes his way across the linoleum lined floor, one hand sneaking into his lunchbox to pull out a peanut butter cookie and bring it to his mouth to practically swallow whole.

. . .

Jongdae isn’t able to slump against his apartment door until some ungodly hour of the morning. There’s still speckles of blood across his wrinkled shirt, and a bruise is blossoming over his left cheekbone. He fumbles with his keys for several long moments before he’s able to slot them into the door knob, foot kicking into the package leaning against the door. It’s wrapped in a yellow towel that’s tied off on the top. Jongdae’s mouth ticks up a little. Further inspection reveals it to be a Makgeolli Sool Bbang, still a little warm. Hopefully, there would be a little rice wine left in the fridge to go with it.


End file.
